


Sy and the Sex Tape

by Hopetohell



Category: Sand Castle (2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Tapes, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29082225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: But it’s electric, like the dry storms in summer, when the thunder rolls somewhere far away and everything is waiting, just waiting for— fuck, ah— oh Jesus, there it is— just waiting for all that electricity in the air to come to a head.
Relationships: Captain Syverson/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Sy and the Sex Tape

_Alright, darlin, here’s what you asked for. I— I haven’t done this before, so you gotta be a little generous here. It feels a little weird and I want, I want. Christ Jesus, if you were here it would be different, you could watch me with that little tilt to your head like you know all my pretty little secrets and some of the ugly ones, too. So I’m gonna. I’m just gonna start, okay?_

Sy stands and scrubs a hand over his scalp: there’s that smile that’s a little embarrassed and a lot interested if his cock is to be believed: it juts against his shorts and it can’t be comfortable, but he’s taking his time. He’s turning his body just so, showing off the angle of his tented shorts, that thick, heavy cock that hides beneath and _oh_ that’ll be a sight, won’t it, once he lets it free. 

_Darlin. You’ll laugh, but it took me forever to figure out what to wear for this, if I should pick something easy to take off, or if I should go for something all nice. Fuck, I even thought about a suit— you ever seen me in a suit, darlin? Oh hell, you did, last summer, at that wedding. Almost sweated right through it but god— I remember—_

He presses a palm against himself and there’s that sharp intake of breath, that tangling of memory and his own touch; he’s got his lower lip caught in his teeth as he wraps himself in memory. 

_I remember you pressed me up against the wall in the cloakroom, sweetheart, and you went right to your knees; your hose tore almost right away but you didn’t care. You said you’d take them off and your panties— fuck, your panties too— so I’d know from then til the end of the night that I could just reach my fingers right inside you if I wanted. But Christ, that’s not— the point is_

He’s pulling his shirt off overhead now, faded olive green and so thin it hardly hides the vast expanse of him anymore but all that skin is showing now, furred with hair; he runs a hand through it, down his belly to the fly of his shorts and if his fingers skip and stutter it somehow makes this only more appealing. 

_The point is you had your mouth and your hands all over me and I thought hell, if I die right here, what a way to go. And I was all sweaty, darlin, but you didn’t care, you said—_

The shorts are coming off now and of course he’s got nothing underneath; he reaches a hand past his cock even though it’s already shined with a smear of precome, even though it’s red and dark and looks like it hurts. 

_You said the more I sweat, the more it tastes like me, and you know that’s been playing on a loop in my head ever since. And you put your mouth right here, right over my sac, darlin, and you made this sound like the cat that got the cream._

He’s sinking to his knees now, moving his hands out of frame and when they appear again he’s got a bottle of slick; he closes a shining hand around his length and 

_Fuck. Fuck, that’s good. Thinking about your hands on me, Christ, when you showed me—_

His other hand is disappearing again, behind him this time, wet with slick and there’s a shift of the tendons in his arm that has him gasping out a little soft em>ah, that has him spreading his knees wider apart, looking up with his eyes so wide, lips parted and

_Fuck. I, ah. When you showed me this, I didn’t. I didn’t think it was for me, you know? Thought it’d make me weak, somehow. But it’s electric, like the dry storms in summer, when the thunder rolls somewhere far away and everything is waiting, just waiting for— fuck, ah— oh Jesus, there it is— just waiting for all that electricity in the air to come to a head._

That’s more slick, disappearing behind him, into him; his head’s dropped forward, hanging heavy, but now and again he looks up and his eyes seem darker each time. He strokes his cock in a rough-and-ready way, finesse gone, driven away by how he fingers himself open, by the way he gets it just right and it makes him gasp. 

_Darlin. Nearly there. Wish I— fuck. Wish it was you. How you draped yourself across my back and licked the sweat off my spine. How you peeled me open and said if I want it and it feels good what’s the worry. Want you here, though. Want your hand gripping at my ass and the way you tell me to touch myself but slowly, slowly. I don’t think I can take it slow now. Not— not alone._

He is a sight, flushed and panting, mouth open around the words that are fleeing from him, hand flying over his cock and the other visible only in the spaces around it, in the twist of his arm and the way his mouth drops open around little wet gasps, in the way he comes sudden and hard, pearly white seed caught in his palm, in the way he tries to keep his eyes open but they keep drifting shut as he trembles through the aftershocks, as he pants and tries to speak again. 

_Fuck, darlin, I really hope you like this. Wanna do you justice, you know? Cause I can’t wait to see what you send me, you and your wild mind. Now let me just see if I can—_

Sy reaches for the camera, brows together, and 

[end tape]


End file.
